


Five Times Misha Makes Jensen Soup and One Time He Doesn't

by prideofportree



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Banter, Comfort Food, Cooking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Jensen, Sickfic, Soup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3499862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prideofportree/pseuds/prideofportree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much what it says on the label.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Misha Makes Jensen Soup and One Time He Doesn't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaychel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaychel/gifts).



**One: Leek & Onion**

The apartment is way too dark for 11 o’clock when Misha unlocks the door and toes off his battered loafers. He sets the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and crosses the room to open the curtains. As soon as he touches the fabric, a whole colony of fruit flies attacks his face and he has to wave both his arms around like a lunatic to make them scatter around.

He opens the window and breathes in the fresh air. As soon as first sunrays pour into the apartment along with the distant sound of Vancouver traffic, a faint moan comes from the bedroom next door.

“Whoever this is, go away. And make it dark again.”

Misha follows the sound of Jensen’s completely wrecked voice, carefully peeking inside. He has to fight a snort when he lays his eyes on the pitiful sight in front of him. Jensen is curled into a ball wrapped up in something that looks like a nest built by a bird raised in a hippie commune in the middle of the bed. He is topless in the least, judging by the very naked looking shoulders peeking from underneath the peach coloured blanket, his hair looks greasy, he’s sporting a lumberjack stubble, and his face is flushed pink from the fever he is quite obviously running.

“Looks like I came at the eleventh hour,” Misha proclaims, fully entering the room and going straight for the window, which he opens wide. He then leans over his sick friend, grimacing at the smell of sweat and rotting fruit. He’s surprised the fruit flies from the kitchen haven’t made a nest in Jensen’s hair instead of the curtains.

“Misha?” Jensen cracks one eye, his eyelashes fluttering with the gargantuan effort to keep it open.

“Yep, it’s me,” Misha beams back at him. “You look like shit,” he adds, because well, _he does_.

“Have you come here to insult me?” Jensen rasps, opening the other eye. It’s just as red-rimmed as the other one and Misha’s hand shoots forward on its own accord and attaches itself to Jensen’s forehead, testing the temperature.

“You’ve got a fever,” he scoffs at Jensen. “How long has it been this high?”

Jensen frowns and then he props himself on his arms to sit up a little. He shrugs one of his naked shoulders and Misha has to make sure he keeps his eyes trained on his face and not the expanse of freckle-peppered skin instead. “Feels like fucking years,” he moans and then he adds, his eyes wide and puffy: “I think I’m dying, Mish.”

That makes Misha roll his eyes. “I should’ve known you’d be one of those people who turn into giant babies when they catch the sniffles.”

Jensen crosses his arms over his chest in a protective gesture. “Don’t make fun of my plague. I’m pretty sure I’m still contagious. Let’s see who’s laughing when _you’_ re on your back.”

Misha feels his face redden at his words, but the innuendo clearly flies over Jensen’s own head. “I’ll be fine,” he clears his throat. “I think West already gave me all the possible illnesses anyway. Probably even some impossible ones. My immune system is the Fort Knox,” he chuckles, feeling Jensen’s forehead again, mostly because he’s suddenly unsure about what to do with his hands. “No, but seriously, we need to bring that temperature down, Jen,” he adds urgently.

Jensen blinks up at him, his eyes continuously big and glassy and disarming. “And how do you propose we do that.”

Misha taps his chin with his finger, trying to think. “Cold shower? You should take one while I take care of this place.” He wrinkles his nose and starts rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “It smells like something died in here... no offense, buddy.”

Jensen makes a face at him, but then he shrugs, clearly not in a complete disagreement. “None taken, I think I did die for about a minute at one point last thursday, actually.”

Misha scoffs again, his insides clenching painfully at the thought of Jensen being in so much pain on his own. “I can’t believe you were gonna suffer through this alone. If this were Jared he’d already be on an IV drip surrounded by sexy nurses. Fuck off to the bathroom. Or are you permanently burrito-ed in that ugly blanket?” He pokes Jensen in the side, his eyes softening.

Jensen squirms under his touch, groaning. “Hey! You’re mean, I’m sure I requested a nicer nurse.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of Misha. “I promise I’ll remember to wear my stripy uniform next time if you get up from the bed already. Or do you need help?” Misha suddenly realises that Jensen might be way too weak to walk on his own and inwardly curses himself for not having thought of it earlier.

Jensen shakes his head, though. “I’m not _that_ dead, I don’t think... I’ve been able to make it to the toilet. But I think you need to know I’m _kinda sorta_ naked underneath theblanket, just for the sake of full disclosure.”

Jensen doesn’t even blush when he says it and Misha knows he only really let him know for his sake. If this were Jared, he’d already be pushing his genitals in Misha’s face and laughing at his horrified reaction. Misha feels his heartbeat speed-up at the thought of a naked Jensen, his burning skin all on display. He mentally smacks himself, because perving on your friends is never ok, but perving on your friends when they have the flu is probably breaking all kinds of bro code. (Not that Misha knows anything about bro codes. He makes a mental note to ask Jared next time he sees him.)

“You’re ridiculous,” he says in the end, praying his blush is not too obvious. “Also, you’re probably the only person I know who likes to be naked when they’re sick.”

“I’m sure that’s untrue,” Jensen raises his eyebrows. “I was wearing boxers before, but I threw them away on Sunday, I think. Was sweating so much everything got sticky and yucky.”

Misha’s nose scrunches. “All right, _TMI,_ just _go_ , I’ll look away or something.”

Once Jensen’s naked framed has shuffled in the direction of the bathroom, Misha quickly gets to work, stripping the covers off the ugly orange sheets and gathering all the used tissues into a giant plastic bag. He works fast and methodically, suppressing the urge to whistle the whole time, because… he’s feeling content. Like this is his place to be right now.

He likes being here. A whole lot.

When he’s finally done with the bedroom, he returns to the kitchen, which has meanwhile been successfully de-fruit-fly-ed, and dives into the grocery bag. He listens to the sound of the water running in the bathroom as he chops the leeks and dices the onions, feeling only a little pervy when his thoughts settle on Jensen washing his sickness away in the shower.

The soup has already been set aside from the burner, ready to be served, when Jensen finally emerges from the bathroom, clad in a robe (thank lord) and fluffy slippers. His hair is still wet, but at least now it’s just from having been washed and not from sweat, and there are tiny droplets of water rolling down his neck and disappearing under the terry-cloth, which are way too distracting for Misha’s liking.

He gives Jensen a once-over and touches his forehead briefly, smugly noting that his fever has gone noticeably down, and then he sniffs the air, frowning a little. “You smell like a fruit salad. Why do you smell like a fruit salad?”

Jensen looks at him puzzled for a moment. Then his face brightens. “Oh - my cough drops. They’re strawberry or some shit. Want some? We could go wild.” Jensen attempts to waggle his eyebrows at him, but what actually happens is he starts coughing violently instead, the horrible rattling sound in his chest making Misha frown.

“Come on, sicky,” he urges Jensen in the direction on his bedroom again, supporting him gently on the way. The coughing finally settles down a little only after Jensen sags back into the freshly changed pillows, helplessly wheezing under his breath.

“Fuck, you really _are_ sick,” Misha comments quietly and he reaches out to comb his fingers through Jensen’s damp hair, forgetting that he should have a good excuse to do that to a friend. He doesn’t have one. Jensen doesn’t comment on it, though.

He does manage to quirk an eyebrow at him without coughing his lungs out, which they both count as a victory. “Ya think?”

Misha doesn’t stop frowning, his fingers digging into Jensen’s skull in a sort of a massage. “You should have called me _days ago_ ,” he stresses. “Or Jared. I’m sure he’s been worried sick about you as well.”

“Aw, Mish, you’ve been worried?” Jensen attempts to turn it into a joke, but his smile falls when he sees that it won’t fly with Misha. “Jared’s down in LA for a thing. I didn’t want to disturb him,” he admits.

Misha sighs, withdrawing his hand. “I’ll bring you a something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Jensen instantly shakes his head.

Misha snorts. “Like hell you aren’t. When was the last time you ate?”

Jensen squints his eyes and Misha knows he’s trying to remember the last meal he’s had, which is already telling him volumes. He sighs. “Hey, It’s just a soup. I made it while you were showering, it’s fresh and warm. It will be good for your sensitive stomach. You’re probably also pretty dehydrated, so I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Jensen stares at him. “You made me soup.”

Misha quints at him in confusion, half-convinced that the flue has scrambled his friend’s brain. “I did. It’s leek and onion and it’s Wes-tested and delicious. You’ll love it.”

“Mish, _you made me soup_ ,” Jensen repeats, more urgently this time, his voice cracking with the effort. “ _From scratch_.”

Misha’s face falls. “You didn’t think I’d serve you instant ramen, did you. I mean, we’re not in college.”

“No,” Jensen relaxes, his shoulders sagging a little. Misha is sure he can see a sign of gratefulness in his expression, even if he has to dig a little for it. (It’s good enough.) “I don’t remember my college mates being this nice,” Jensen admits, smiling.

Misha rolls his eyes. “That’s why being an adult is so awesome. Your friends are bound by a terrible sense of responsibility to help you when you’re sick. Teenagers don’t give a shit.”

“I bet you gave a shit when you were a teenager,” Jensen decides.

Misha chuckles in surprise. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you’re…” Jensen waves his hand around… “Misha.”

“Yes, that’s my name.”

“You know what I mean. I can’t picture you _not_ being nice,” Jensen says with a smile and Misha feels a pool of warmth spread through his belly and travel all the way to the very tips of his fingers at those words. He smiles back briefly and then he shakes his head in embarrassment, while Jensen continues to peer at him through his eyelashes.

“All right, ok,” Misha finally clears his throat awkwardly, “and now that we’ve established that I’m nice, enough chatter. Open wide..!” He gathers some of the soup in a spoon and battles it in through Jensen’s unwilling  lips.

“Hey! I take it back, you’re a brute,” Jensen exclaims, although it’s not a very successful exclamation, seeing as his mouth is full of leeks and onions and broth. Jensen manages to swallow the whole mouthful after a while, his eyes tearing up from how warm it still is.

Misha shoots him a stern look. “It’s simple, Jen. I’m older, so you have to do what I say. Now take the soup, because I’m sure as hell not feeding you any more...”

Jensen rolls his eyes, but sits up on the bed, obediently taking the bowl from Misha’s hands. “Yes, mum,” he mumbles mockingly, taking another slurp of the warm liquid. “You’re lucky this is really fucking good,” he adds reluctantly after a while.

“Good.” Misha nods smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and winking playfully at Jensen. “And you can call me daddy.”

Jensen promptly chokes on a piece of leek.

*

**Two: Potato & Mushroom**

Jensen is asleep when Misha unlocks the door, so he tiptoes straight to the kitchen and gets to work, peeling the small mountain of potatoes he’s brought over on his bicycle. He’s about 90% sure Jensen won’t eat most of what he’s about to make, but the thought of doing it for him is somewhat enough anyway.

Vancouver has decided to turn itself into one big puddle today, so the window is being whipped by water, filling the apartment with relaxing sound of rain. Misha is just throwing in the mushrooms and dusting the soup with some salt and pepper, when a sudden rustling noise makes him turn around.

“Since when do you have a key to my apartment?” Jensen is leaning against the doorframe, his mouth curled into a tiny smirk.

“ _Jensen._ ”

Jensen’s smirk widens and Misha can already tell he’s feeling much better than yesterday. His eyes are still puffy, but clearer, and his skin is not translucent anymore. Jensen scratches at the bare strip of his belly where his Random Acts shirt has ridden up and Misha can already feel his neck flushing. This is going to be a long afternoon.

“You gave it to me about two years ago?” he shrugs, turning back towards the counter to fish around in one of the drawers for a clean spoon. He leans down to taste the soup, gently blowing on the liquid before swallowing it. It tastes nice.

“I must have been delirious, clearly,” Jensen answers, his tone lazy and amused.

Misha rolls his eyes and turns off the gas. “I see you’re feeling much better, smartass.”

Jensen shrugs. “I don’t feel like I’m gonna die anymore, which is a good thing. Makes me wonder what kind of witchcraft you pulled with that soup yesterday.”

“I’m good with soups,” Misha waves his hand dismissively. “It’s a thing. How are you really feeling, though? Honestly.”

Jensen hesitates, his hand coming up to rub at his eyes. “Still kinda crappy. My limbs feel like they weigh a ton, my head aches like a bitch, and my stomach is in a state of a permanent flip-floppage.”

Misha nods. Not so much better, then. “Have you eaten anything?” Jensen shakes his head and Misha sighs. “Looks I need to give you that lecture about strength and liquids again. On the bright side, at least you’re wearing underwear this time.”

“Was kind of forced to with all these strangers turning up on my doorstep and making me delicious soups in my kitchen.”

Misha quirks an eyebrow at him instead of justifying that statement with an answer and gets on his tiptoes to get a bowl from the cabinet. He can feel Jensen’s eyes on his back as he stretches up, but he’s determined not to let it distract him. “You gonna eat at the table today?”

Jensen’s expression is serious when Misha turns back around. “Honestly? I’m already kind of sliding down the doorframe here. I think I overdid it a little.”

“Why did you even get out of the bed?” Misha grumbles, setting the bowl down and crossing the tiny kitchen space to grip Jensen’s arm.

“There was somebody in my apartment!” Jensen stares at him pointedly, but lets himself be lead back into the bedroom. Once he’s properly settled in the covers, Misha brings him the soup.

“Eat,” he orders, thrusting the bowl in Jensen’s hand.

“Sit,” Jensen parrots, patting the mattress beside him. “Why aren’t you having any anyway?” he adds.

Misha chuckles. “I already had lunch.”

Jensen squints back at him, but leaves it at that, focusing on the soup instead. “This is really fucking tasty, Mish,” he moans approvingly and Misha squirms a little on the bed, unsure whether he should be feeling pleased or freaked out or turned on. Maybe a little bit of everything.

“Jared called this morning,” Jensen mentions after good five minutes of enjoying the soup and Misha cocks his head to the side.

“He did?”

Jensen nods. “Yeah, apparently he’ll be wrapping up that thing he’s doing by the end of the week so he’s coming back to Vancouver on Monday tops.”

Misha chuckles. “Well he better, we’re shooting some scenes together on Monday. Anyway, I guess that means I’ll be relieved of my duty then?” he raises his eyebrows expectantly. Inside, his stomach is clenching uncomfortably, although he’s telling himself he should have counted on Jensen’s clear preference of their tall brother in arms in times of sickness.

Jensen is frowning, though. “Dude, no, I’m pretty sure Jared would make a really ugly nurse. Also, I bet he can’t make soup to save his life.”

“That’s probably not true and you know it,” Misha rolls his eyes good-naturedly, his insides relaxing again. “Jared is an excellent cook.”

Jensen just ignores that statement. “Plus, there’s no way you’re shooting anything without me. Sam and Castiel alone in a scene? What would the fans say?” He lays his palm over his heart dramatically, mouth opening in mock-protest. “Castiel needs Dean to not look at,” he adds, before finishing the rest of the soup in one giant slurp straight from the bowl. “Fuck, that was really good. Seriously, Mish, if you ever get tired of acting, you should open a soup bistro, or something.”

Misha makes a disgusted face at the slurp, but he’s pleased about the compliment. “Your manners are atrocious, Ackles. I do have to say I’m happy your appetite is back, though.”

Jensen winks back at him cheekily. “Well, if there’s something I can always count on, it’s my appetite.”

Misha throws a balled-up napkin at his face. “Stop being a Dean.”

 

*

**Three: Tomato & Rice**

The first thing Misha notices when he gets into the apartment is the complete lack of fruit-flies. The second thing he notices is the substantial increase in the number of used tissues laying around on every imaginable surface.

“Man, this is already starting to feel like a deja vu,” Jensen chuckles, his voice back to scratchy and nasal. He eyes the bowl of the pungent smelling deep red soup in Misha’s hands. “Smells awesome, by the way,” he adds, sitting up in the bed and making grabby hands in Misha’s direction.

Misha’s mouth quirks up in a smug smile. “It _is_ awesome. I made it. God, it looks really clean in here. What did you do to the fruit-flies, by the way?”

The room is aired and fresh-smelling and Jensen’s cheeks are clean-shaven and nowhere as flushed as they were the last two days. (Misha can’t help but miss _that_ a little bit.)

“I figured out that it was that fucking strawberry cough syrup they were after,” Jensen replies with an annoyed expression. “So I threw it out. Which sucks, because that thing was the only reason my lungs were still secured inside of my chest. Anything could happen now.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Misha laughs. “At least that’ll teach you not to take a kid’s medicine when you’re experiencing a very adult illness.”

Jensen actually pouts. “All the other cough drops in the store looked like they tasted like ass.”

“As someone who has actual experience with that, I can honestly tell you they probably did not,” Misha deadpans.

There’s just silence for a little while, before Jensen breaks it by taking a loud sip of the soup.

“Dude, maybe this _isn’t_ a deja vu,” he mumbles in-between slurps and Misha has to tear his eyes away from those pink lips wrapped around the spoon to pay attention to what he’s actually saying.

“I’d hope not?” he smiles, eyebrows flying up in amusement. “This is the third time this week I made you lunch,” he points out, settling down in the feet of Jensen’s bed. “If this whole thing is just in your imagination, then we need to find out what happened to all of that cash I allegedly spent at Whole Foods.”

“Maybe it’s a loop day, like in that episode with the trickster, you know. The same day happening over and over again. You coming here. Making me soup. Me eating the soup. Me falling asleep. You leaving…” Jensen’s broken voice trails away.

Misha chuckles again, not quite catching the way the little light left Jensen’s eyes at the last words. “Only it’s Wednesday and it was Tuesday yesterday and Monday the day before. Also, I’m no trickster,” he winks at Jensen, patting his knee over the blanket.

“You’re very tricky, though.”

“Why, thank you,” Misha sticks his tongue out and is rewarded by Jensen sneezing directly into his face.

“Uh, excuse me,” he mumbles, reaching for the tissue box. He blows his nose loudly and for a long time and then he falls back into the covers, the empty bowl forgotten in Misha’s lap (and how did it get there again?). “Uh, gross. This sucks,” Jensen rasps and then promptly buries his face in his pillow.

“Jen?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t really mind me coming over, right?”

Jensen breaths into the fabric for a second or two and then he rolls back over and locks eyes with Misha. “Are you serious? You’ve been a life-saver, Mish. I’d probably be drowning in my own sweat and snot by now if you hadn’t come to the rescue.”

The corners of Misha’s mouth turn slightly upwards. “Good to know, huh?”

Jensen actually sits up again. “Man, I’m sorry if I’ve been a little cranky or weird, ok? You’ve been fantastic. And I want to marry your soup,” he adds with a hint of a smile of his own.

Misha rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh yeah? Which one?”

Jensen pretends to think about it for a couple of seconds before shaking his head. “Jury’s still out on that one,” he decides. “It’s only Wednesday, after all.”

*

**Four: Broccoli**

“How are you feeling today?” Misha asks, squinting a little at his friend’s face to look for signs of a fever.

They’re both in the kitchen today and Jensen has even managed to put some pants on (Misha had insisted he had to wear them if he really wanted to help). His voice is still wrecked and the tissues are a constant, but other than that, he doesn’t seem all that sick anymore. Misha can’t decide whether that makes him happy or a little sad.

“You asked me that yesterday and the day before yesterday and the day before that, Misha,” Jensen retorts, waving a piece of broccoli in the air.

Misha rolls his eyes. “Yep, it’s like reading the paper, it’s different every day. Just humor me.”

Jensen sets the broccoli back on the board and starts chopping it up. “I’m fine, you can see that I’m fine. Or I’m getting there, if you want the whole truth. I think I’ll be ready to shoot on Monday, actually.”

Misha narrows his eyes. “No you won’t! Jen, you were pretty much dead on Monday. There’s no way your plague has fucked off out of your system so quickly. You’ll need to take it easy for a couple of days, ok?”

Now it’s Jensen’s turn to roll _his_ eyes. “I was not _that_ dead.”

“Was too, curled in a nest of your dirty soiled sheets like some kind of an emotionally distressed bird,” Misha snorts, as he fills the pot with fresh water and turns the gas on.

Jensen shoots him a dirty look, before bending down to look for the lid in one of the lower cabinets.

“It was weird,” Misha simply states, shrugging, trying not to stare at the way Jensen’s ass looks in the tracksuit pants he’s pulled on for him.

Jensen bristles when he finally straightens up again, lid in hand. “I have the flu, I am entitled to being weird. Besides, if you don’t like my weirdness, you can take your soup and go home, I’m not keeping you hostage here, you know.”

Misha lets out an over exaggerated long-suffering sigh and reaches out to pat Jensen’s shoulder. “I know you’re not serious, not judging by the way you literally made love to that tomato soup yesterday. Besides, I couldn’t do that to Jared,” he admits, biting down on his lower lip. “He’s way too fragile, he’d probably cry if you died.”

Jensen’s eyebrow quirks up. “Probably?” He puts the lid on the top of the pot and returns to chopping the broccoli.

“Yeah, like, you know, in a manly way,” Misha elaborates, gesticulating wildly with his hand.

Jensen smirks. “What, like you did when we watched season nine finale at his house?”

“Shut up, I wasn’t crying, I was just…”

“What?”

“It was a powerful moment, is all...”

Jensen is full-on giggling now. “Oh I think you just got all soggy, because you simply couldn’t bear to see me die on screen. Admit it.”

Misha pauses. “All right, I admit it,” he finally says.

Jensen nearly chops off his finger.

*

**Five: Red Lentil & Carrot**

“You _are_ better, right?” Misha asks reluctantly on the fifth day, pulling at a loose thread in Jensen’s blanket.

Jensen has liked Misha’s ‘soup of the day’ - curried red lentil with carrot - so much, he practically licked the soup clean earlier that afternoon, which made Misha blush so hard he had to excuse himself to the bathroom. Despite all the soup and Misha’s attentive care, though, Jensen is still not looking fully healthy, which frustrates Misha to no end. In addition to that, the mood at the apartment always seems to shift to something tangibly awkward when he’s about to leave. And whatever that _is,_ it’s definitely going to come up sooner than later.

“I mean, your sniffles seem to have gotten so much worse,” Misha clarifies pointedly, referring to the mountains and mountains of paper tissues he saw (and single-handedly collected) all over the apartment over the last three days.

Jensen’s face brightens. “Yes, no, that’s actually good. I call that phase two.”

“Phase two?” Misha frowns.

“Yep. See: Phase one is when you’re dying and everything hurts and you can’t decide whether you want to cough or puke. Phase two is all of that slowly reducing and being replaced by an intense case of sniffles. And then once we’re in phase three, we’re out of the woods.”

Misha’s frown deepens. “Ok, so what’s phase three?”

Jensen gives him a totally unnecessary toothy smile, which Misha just wants to wipe off by grabbing that jaw and... “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” Jensen smirks and something flutters in Misha’s chest.

* *

**\+ One: Minestrone**

“Hey,” Misha wheezes, trying to catch his breath when Jensen opens the door, fully dressed in dark blue jeans and a pale green long-sleeved henley. “What’s going on? Are you ok?” he urges.

Misha’s eyes are wild and there is cold sweat slowly drying on his forehead under his helmet. He rode over on his bicycle so fast when Jensen texted him that he isn’t even sure he was dressed properly. The thing is, it doesn’t look like Jensen is dying. In fact, he’s looking the healthiest Misha’s seen him in weeks.

“What?” Jensen frowns. “Yeah, I mean, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

Misha takes off his helmet and closes his eyes for a couple seconds, slowly breathing in, trying to convince his hammering heart to stop freaking out. He resists the urge to reach out and squeeze Jensen’s arm just to make sure he really is fine, that he isn’t suddenly dying of some flu-related complication.

“Shit, Mish, are you ok?” Jensen’s worried voice interrupts Misha’s thoughts. “Man, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you’d think…”

Misha shakes his head, squaring up his shoulders. He feels his cheeks flame up. “No, it’s ok, I don’t know why I jumped to the worst possible conclusions,” he admits, feeling more than a little bit silly. He looks down on himself and is pleased to find that he has at least managed to put on a sweater with minimal amount of holes before throwing on his jacket and some black jeans (although those might as well belong to Vicki) prior to leaving his house. Christ, he could be still wearing his pyjamas. “You fucking scared me, though,” he adds.

Jensen peers at him guiltily. “I can see now how ‘come immediately, I need you’ might have made it sound urgent,” he agrees. “But, I mean i’m good, look!” He raises his arms and gives a ridiculous and entirely unnecessary twirl, which only ends up being good for Misha getting a full display of his body (which, on the other hand, is something Misha doesn’t mind at all). And oh no, Misha certainly doesn’t miss the way Jensen’s muscles shift under the tight henley when he drops his arms again or how his smile brightens his whole face. Not for the first time this week, Misha thinks about how incredibly and thoroughly fucked he is.

“What _did_ you need me for then?” he finally asks, leaning heavily against the wall.

Jensen suddenly looks sheepish. “Well, it has to do with phase three,” he admits and makes grabby hands at Misha’s jacket. “C’mon, Misha.”

“What’s ‘phase three’ then?” Misha parrots, unpeeling himself from the wall reluctantly and allowing Jensen to take his jacket, too confused to question the sudden gentlemanly behaviour.

“That’s when you get all better, _duh_ ,” Jensen rolls his eyes and urges Misha to the living room. “Sit down.”

“What is going on?” Misha frowns in confusion and then he notices the pretty tablecloth on the coffee table. _The fuck?_ he thinks, looking around, when his nose is suddenly hit with an incredible smell coming from the kitchen.

Jensen shoots him a quick shy look. “I made soup. I mean, I made you soup. Well _us_ ,” he corrects himself, blushing.

Misha squints at him. “I’m confused.”

Jensen draws a deep breath. “I’m feeling good. Like real damn good. And it’s been a tough couple of weeks. And I just wanted to thank you, for you know, nursing me back to health with your mad culinary skills… and um...”

Misha smiles. “So you made me soup.”

“That’s… yes,” Jensen finishes awkwardly, gesturing towards the couch. “Would you sit down? I’ll be back in a sec.”

Misha sits down, the fluttering in his stomach intensifying.

Jensen made him soup.

“It’s just a Minestrone. I don’t really know how to make anything, really, and this is what my brother always makes,” Jensen shrugs when he comes back, setting a bowl full of heavenly-smelling goodness in front of Misha.

He sits down so close their thighs are nearly touching. Misha turns towards him, ready to make a joke about Jensen’s non-existent cooking abilities and fire hazard, when he finds his mouth is suddenly on Jensen’s mouth and _oh_ , it’s very nice. In fact, it’s incredibly nice. And Misha knows, he fucking _knows_ that _this,_ this right here is what they’ve been building up to this whole week, hell, the last six years, and it feels just… _yeah_.

Their lips slide against each other and Misha’s hands somehow travel to Jensen’s hair and somewhere in the back of his head he is realising Jensen has just gotten out of a serious sickness and that they shouldn’t be engaging in intense make-out sessions and swap salivas, because _gross,_ only he can’t help himself, so he deepens the kiss and Jensen groans and wraps his arms around Misha, squeezing tight. Misha lets out a small moan himself in response and puts his legs up on Jensen’s thighs to make the angle less awkward.

It’s wonderful and all kinds of super hot and when they finally break apart, the bowls of soup on the table are no longer emitting any steam.

“Huh. So. That’s new,” Jensen’s voice is a little bit husky and it makes Misha want to grab at his hair and pull him back in for another round of kisses.

“Is it bad new, though?” he quips.

“I don’t think so,” Jensen pauses, licking his lips. “How about you come in tomorrow, We have some _solids_ for a change... and we find out?” His smile is small and nervous, but warm and inviting and everything Misha wants.

And Misha grins, his whole face feeling like it’s going to fly into the fucking sun. “It’s a date.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me over at [theangeloffriday.tumblr.com](http://fullofbloodandhoney.tumblr.com)


End file.
